The Mockingjay Nest
by streetlightlove
Summary: Katniss Everdeen is institutionalized in the fall of 1948 after the tragic death of her sister. Once inside the asylum the dreams and nightmares that sent her there start to become a little too real. Katniss POV.


**A/N to follow...**

**Enjoy!**

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1948

"Prim!" My howls tear me from my nightmare. The fire from the bomb that took my sister's life still flashes before my eyes, but eventually the inky blackness of my darkened bedroom fills in the edges of my vision, and my mind finally allows me to calm myself at the realization I am home, I am safe. Not like Prim.

She's dead.

My younger sister however was not killed by a fire bomb while snow fell from the sky; she drowned in the pond just a mile from our home this past spring. I can still remember the image of her blue, bloated body as they pulled her from the murky water, when my father thought he had blocked my view.

It had been a closed casket funeral. I heard whispers that the undertaker could do nothing about the state of her body, but while no one was looking I had snuck over to her cherry wood coffin and cautiously lifted the lid. I couldn't lift it enough for the light from the room to shine onto her face, but I was able to locate her cold porcelain hand, and into her palm I pressed the brass pin of a bird neither of us could ever identify. She had given it to me for my sixteenth birthday. She said it was good luck, but I would much rather bury everything I have with her.

That night the dreams began.

They aren't all bad; in fact in some of them I am overwhelmed by a sense of love, and camaraderie, but they are all strange. For one, Prim's face is the only one I can see—everyone else's faces are smeared, like water thrown on a freshly painted canvas. I can see their bodies and hear their voices, but their faces have remained a mystery.

The dreams don't seem to be following any sort of timeline, and sometimes a dream will repeat, but the characters are always the same. Some I know, like my mother and sister, just a different version of them, in a different place and time. But then there are others that I cannot explain, like the tall dark boy who I refer to as my best friend, or the drunk who seems to follow me around making sure I'm safe.

And then there is the blond boy, who I feel remarkably comfortable with, yet at other times conflicted as to what my true feelings for him are. But everytime he is near I feel safe and loved.

Once awake I cannot recollect any of these strangers' names. In my dreams, I know I speak their names freely, but once my eyes open and I am alone again I can't seem to get my lips to replicate the sounds.

I hear a soft knocking at my bedroom door, and I know that my father stands on the other side, while my mother probably stews in her bed at the interruption brought on by my nightmare. On nights like tonight when my dreams turn into terror, I always wake up screaming, and my father is always here to comfort me.

The door creaks open and my father slinks inside. Without a word he comes to my bed, sits on the edge, and takes me into his arms, holding me against his chest tightly until the tears begin and I start freeing myself from the horror I've just experienced. When I have gotten a hold of myself, and my sobs have sputtered out into the occasional hiccup, my father kisses the top of my head gently.

"What was it about this time?" he asks soothingly. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand before answering.

"It was the one with the bomb."

"Ah." He doesn't need to question me anymore. I have woken him up because of this dream many nights; he probably knows the details as well as if he had it himself. In this moment I am grateful for his familiarity, that way I don't have to speak about what I saw out loud.

We sit there silently for a long while, but then my father sighs loudly.

"Katniss, it's been almost six months since Prim…" his voice cracks on her name, "since your sister passed, and your nightmares haven't gotten any better." Something about the tone of his voice makes my stomach twist painfully.

"They're just dreams, Papa." I try to sound convincing, but I know I am failing.

"If that were true, I wouldn't be so worried, but you barely leave the house anymore, and there was a time I couldn't keep you inside, not in the snow or rain or cold." He sounds wistful as he speaks. "And Sister Margaret phoned me the other day and told me your studies have been suffering, and that you aren't paying attention during your lessons, and you're often falling asleep." I tense up at the thought of the head nun from my school telling my father what a terrible pupil I've been as of late, disappointing him, and the tears begin to flow again.

"I'm so sorry, Papa," I blubber. "I can be better, I promise," I have a hard time catching my breath.

"Oh no, my darling, I'm not upset with you, hush," he says, as he strokes my hair and kisses my temple. "It's just these problems may be too hard for just you to deal with on your own; you may need help." I nod my head in agreement, even though I am not clear as to what he means. "Just go back to sleep, my darling. Things will be better in the morning," The tendrils of sleep tug at me then, and I fall asleep in my father's arms.

The next morning my mother completely ignores me at the breakfast table, even as my father tries to keep the conversation going.

Before my sister died, it was clear that she favored her over me. Prim was a perfect child, and my mother showed her off often. It's not that my mother didn't show affection towards me; it was just with Prim's golden locks, sky-blue eyes, and her kind and lady-like ways she was the daughter that any mother would be proud of. In contrast I tended to draw out my mother's ire rather than her smiles. I'm a stubborn daddy's girl, a tomboy, my olive-colored skin always covered in a layer of dirt and grime. I will never be the shiny gem that Prim was.

Since Prim's death the relationship between my mother and me has gotten worse. She blames me for her daughter's death. My father tries to tell me that she is just grieving, that everyone handles death differently, but I know better. I was supposed to be watching Prim. It was my responsibility to keep her safe, but the young doe that had wandered just a few feet from me as I sat on the water's edge distracted me. I had followed the animal into the woods, until it got spooked and ran away. When I came back, Prim was gone.

I understand my mother's hatred for me, because I despise myself as well.

I do my best to pull myself together to head to school. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The shadows under my eyes are as dark as my tangled black hair. My disheveled uniform is riddled with wrinkles, but I don't care.

I lose focus in school again, and at one point, Sister Elizabeth takes a ruler to my unsuspecting knuckles when she discovers that I'm not paying attention. I swallow my cries, knowing making a noise would just result in another smack. The cruel nun smirks at me before tromping back to her desk.

My feet feel like lead on the walk home, and there is an unexplained nervous knot that has formed in my gut. An uneasiness seems to tug at the hairs on the back on my neck, and I have to turn around several times to make sure there is no one behind me.

The odd feeling becomes much more pronounced when I arrive home to find a black car in the shape of an ambulance but completely unmarked, parked in front our house. I open the front door, and it creaks loudly in greeting. I am in the midst of toeing off my shoes when my mother flies into the foyer to greet me, an unfamiliarly wide smile on her face.

"There you are, honey," she speaks in a gentle voice, the one she reserved only for Prim. My heart beats in my throat. Something is most certainly wrong. But before I can turn and flee from the house, the woman who has taken over my mother's body snatches my wrist and walks me forcefully into the living room. The sight there does nothing to assuage the terror building up inside of me.

A tall woman dressed in a white dress with a nest of blonde curls pinned to the top of her head, regards me curiously. Two men also dressed in white from head to toe—shirts, pants, slacks and coats—stand just behind her. My eyes wander and find my father in his favorite chair, except he isn't looking back at me; instead his head rests in his hands, his fingers lodged in his black hair.

"Papa?" I call to him, desperately hoping he gives me some sort of answers, as he is the only one I trust in this room.

"Hello, Katniss," the tall blonde addresses me. She takes a step towards me, and when she does, the men behind her close the distance as well. "My name is Effie Trinket, and I'm a nurse at Capitol Asylum. Do you know what kind of place that is?"

My lungs constrict painfully as I try to suck in air, but all it does is lodge itself in my throat. I give her a slow nod, as I can't help but recall the man up the road that had come back from Europe after the war, no longer right in the head. He would wander around Main Street having lively conversations with himself, and snapping at people if they walked too close to him. Then he put his fist through the window of the hardware store, and after that, no one ever saw him again. I heard my father tell my mother, when they thought I was out of earshot, that he was brought to a nearby asylum.

"Well," the nurse takes another step closer, followed by the men, "we hear you have had a tough time since your sister's unfortunate passing, and at our hospital we have children and young adults, just like yourself, who are going through the same things you are, and our doctors have been able to help them all a great deal."

"Then why are they still at your hospital?" I snap back. Nurse Trinket looks taken aback by my outburst at first, but quickly recovers, her earlier overly calm smile pulling on her lips once more.

"Katniss, my dear, the road to wellness is not an easy one. There are bumps and setbacks, but with the kind of compassion and therapy that we offer at The Capitol, we will get you there."

"But what if I don't want to go?" I ask, trying to keep the tremor in my voice to a minimum, but my slamming pulse makes it hard.

"Well unfortunately, your parents have decided that this is what's best for you right now." I turn and find my mother's tired pale-blue eyes staring back at me. I lock my eyes with hers and silently appeal to any shred of love that she still may harbor for me, begging her to put an end to this. But instead of doing that, she turns away from me. This is when I spin and explode into a run, desperately trying to get away from the place I have lived my whole life but that suddenly doesn't feel like home anymore.

The tips of my fingers just brush against the brass doorknob when I feel a pair of crushing arms wrap around me and drag me back into the room. I begin to scream and kick and flail, but my muscular captor won't give me an inch. My father is standing now; his fists are clenched at his side, and his face is turning red.

"Don't hurt my daughter," he warns the man. My father begins moving towards me, but the tall blonde sticks her hand out to stop him.

"Mr. Everdeen, you have to understand that we know what's best for those —like Katniss— who suffer from these ailments. It's why your wife called us, after all." I close my eyes; I would rather never look at my mother again.

"But maybe there is another way?" he pleads.

"If left untreated, your daughter's condition could worsen, and then no one would be able to save her." I peek through my lashes and see my father's face fall. He looks to me then, tears apparent in his eyes.

"Papa, please!" I scream and begin to flail again. "They're just dreams!" I try to pull myself closer to my father. "I promise I'll do better in school, I'll be better. Please, Papa," I beg.

_I'm sorry_, he mouths, and then lowers his head again. I sag into my captor's arms in defeat. They could take me anywhere now for all I care. I just don't want to be here anymore.

I shut down at that point. I only know I'm in the car, because them slamming the door rattles me a bit, but no one speaks to me, and the whir of the car as it makes its way further and further away from the life I used to know miraculously lulls me to sleep.

When I wake later, it is dark outside, and it takes me a long moment to realize where I am, but one of the men in white is sitting next to me and a wave of reality crashes around me.

I glance out the window with bleary eyes, and I'm greeted by an eerie sight. The car slowly crawls up a steep hill, and when my focus moves to the top of the slope, I see a sprawling, four-story brick mansion with a myriad of spires reaching towards the starlit sky. The structure is stunning, probably the most beautiful building I have ever seen in my life, but the feeling I get when I look at it is anything but serene, as if its superficial beauty is only there to hide the ugliness inside. Tears begin to sting my eyes, and I swallow back a sob.

Nurse Trinket, on the other hand, looks as though she has missed every minute away from the ominous building. She sighs in relief before turning to me, her smile as ghoulish as the car's destination.

"Katniss Everdeen," she beams, pointing a finger to the top of the hill, "welcome to The Capitol"

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**Thank you so much for checking out this new fic of mine. I hope you are intrigued enough to continue!**

**I guess this fic is technically considered a Historical AU as it takes place in '48, but mostly it takes place back then because of the state of mental health institutions at that time. This fic will get pretty dark, and odd. It is rated M for sexual content, violence, mentions of gruesome psychiatric treatments such as lobotomies, shock therapy, straight jackets and padded rooms etc. **

***As a note: Neither K or P will receive a lobotomy in this story, and both will be alive at the end!**

**Even though Capitol Asylum in this story is a private hospital, the images that Ro used in the banners, and the inspiration for this fic are courtesy of Danvers State Mental Hospital in Danvers, Massachusetts. The hospital has long been closed, and turned into condos, but the history is very interesting (and somewhat terrifying) so if you are interested in that type of stuff definitely look it up. Also before they demolished the buildings I took a tour of the grounds and got some amazing pictures which I will post on my tumblr when I get to a scanner. And as a fun fact... Arkham asylum in batman is based off the fictitious asylum that H. P. Lovecraft used in his stories, and that asylum is based off of Danvers State...so yeah.**

**Now I would like to thank Court81981 for being my patronus, for being my friend, for encouraging my wacky ideas, for fixing my mistakes, and for generally just being awesome! ILY Also thank you to Pookieh and Peetasbunmyoven for prereading and giving me the impression this idea was good enough for the general public. And thank you to Ro for making me some intensely creepy banners! haha! You kick ass! **

**I do not own the Hunger Games...unfortunately...**

**Visit me on tumblr: streetlightlove1**

**and a small note... I am sorry about the delay with A Healing Heart... I was in a terrible funk when it came to my writing recently, but this idea has kind of rejuvenated the writer in me, and I am working diligently on AHH and hopefully will have that for you soon! Thanks for your patience!**

**And again...Thanks for reading!**


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